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Not one to pass up a good Bully stick, he settles and lowers his back end to an obedient sitting position. I smile at the sound of four other waiting dogs whining all around me. “You’ll get your turn!” I holler and say, “Good boy, Jack,” and hand off the treat with a pat on his head. “Now, while you eat that, I need to do something about this water. I’m not in the mood for your wet paws all over my clean shorts, not after the mess you made last week.” Thunder shudders the walls with a rapidly advancing storm. “And speaking of messes, I guess we won’t be going out to the play yard today.” Jack is practically half-human and takes my words like a blow, resting his head on both front paws and grumping up at me like a depraved old man. He loves being outside almost more than food.
The forecast looks ugly, possibly not the best day for cruising around town with a man I just met. If he hadn’t specifically asked for my help, I might drop him at various front doors and wait in the car while he conducts interviews. As it stands, I have about thirty minutes to get back to the motel, and I still have five hungry mouths to feed, all of which will be disappointed in our lack of playing fetch today. All currently standing at their kennel doors with tails wagging because Ialwaystake them outside, and they know this.
“We can’t go outside today, guys,” I say, patting each one on the head and getting an immediate chorus of whines when I don’t reach for the leashes like always. “I know, I’m disappointed too. But the rain—” Lightning cracks overhead, almost like an attempt to back me up. “It’s coming in strong and going outside wouldn’t be safe.” Even with my three-day-a-week visits, they get so little human attention that it breaks my heart to deny them anything, but a storm is a storm, and I won’t compromise my safety or theirs. I send up a prayer that’s more like a mental deal with God, begging him to keep the rain away when I return on Thursday.
With a last pat of affection to Jack and a promise to see him soon, I make my way down the row of kennels, feeding and hugging the remaining dogs in the adoptable section one by one. Normally I would move on to the strays and kittens’ sections, but by the time I’m finished here, turn in my badge, and sign out, I’m already five minutes late to meet Finn. Thankfully, the motel is a short two blocks away and will only take a—
I stop short when I reach the front door and remember I parked at the motel and walked here. An hour ago, the sky was painted with gray feather-like clouds; now, it’s blanketed in layers of thick, dark cotton that drain with liquid like it’s being wrung from a sponge. The once dry ground is quickly turning to mud. Rain bears down in sheets while I stare through the glass front door, reflecting on my bad decision. Wishing for a car to appear is futile, so I look around for someone to take me back to the motel. The only person here is the dog groomer currently shampooing a Great Pyrenees behind the glass viewing window and the elderly retired woman who volunteers here every morning. I’d no sooner ask her to take me than my own great-grandmother. Bad weather and old ladies never make the best combination. Her need for a hip replacement would be more catastrophic than mine.
The only thing left to do is make a run for it. Dread grips my middle when I contemplate my impending appearance. I haven’t exactly spent the last twelve hours thinking about seeing Finn again, but I haven’tnotbeen thinking about seeing him either. The guy is seriously good-looking; any woman with a pulse would notice that. But something tells me Drowned Rat in Sopping Jeans, and a Black Backstreet Boys T-shirt won’t make the impression I’d hoped for. Cool band chick, that’s the look I wanted. Hip beyond my small-town demographic, I’d take that too. But girl who literally looks and smells like wet dog will probably get me kicked out of Finn’s fancy Audi in three seconds flat. Yeah, I saw it this morning and immediately knew it was his. The Texas plate was my first clue. It being the only other car in the parking lot besides mine, was the second.
Some girls have all the luck. I have whatever luck is left over when the four-leaf-clover dries up and gets forgotten inside a book.
With a self-defeated huff, I hold my breath and push through the door, squeezing my eyes tight against the slap of raindrops stinging my skin. Cold. So cold and wet. So cold and wet and painful I might die of hypothermia right here on the sidewalk. My boot hits a puddle and sinks, alerting me that I’ve missed the sidewalk and landed in the sopping grass. I go to right myself, wishing I’d dropped the groupie look and gone straight for bear-skinned-clad Eskimo, when I hear my name cutting through the downpour. I squint through one eye but see nothing in front of me.
“Billi!” There it is again, this time closer. Using a hand to pathetically shield my vision, I spot a car directly in front of me and practically nosedive toward it.Stranger dangerbriefly flashes a warning inside my brain, but screw it. This town is tiny. It wouldn’t take five minutes to catch my potential murderer because every eye that can watch out a window right now is. Two seconds later, I’m inside the car with the door firmly slammed behind me. Only then do I look over.
And wither. Right here on the buttery leather seat now drenched with my water-logged, dog-scented self.
I’m in an Audi.ThatAudi. Finn’s actual Audi because he’s an apparently rich guy, and I’m just so typically me. I close my eyes and try to gain some composure, but a raindrop chooses that moment to slide inside my eyeball. It stings, and I slap a hand over my face.
“Are you okay?” Finn asks. “What were you doing running in the rain like that? Also…” I hear him sniff.Sniff. “What is that weird smell?”
I swallow and slump in my seat, cursing the gods of the universe for not ending all humanity when it would be most convenient for me. They could part the oceans and let us all drown or even zap only me into oblivion if they’re not ready to wrap up the world just yet, but no. Here I sit, smelling like a mangy Labrador. Probably looking like slobbery St. Bernard. Never ever getting my way.
“I walked to the animal shelter earlier without looking at the forecast,” I say with no shortage of dejectedness in my tone. “I didn’t know it was supposed to rain. And in my defense, it was still nice outside when I left.”
“You volunteer at the animal shelter?” He sounds…interested instead of grossed out. My spirits inch upward.
“Three days a week, usually in the afternoon.”
“But you went this morning?”
“Well, yeah.” I shrug.
“Because I asked for your help?”
“Yep. Quite possibly the worst misjudgment I’ve ever made.”
“Going early or offering to help me?”
I make a full-body gesture to encompass both. Clearly, I’m not equipped to make decisions.
Finn goes quiet, so quiet I’m almost waiting for another sniff or a snide crack at my bad timing, but he says nothing until…“Huh.”
I study him sidelong. “What does, ‘huh,’ mean?” You know what they say. Never ask a question if you’re not prepared to hear the answer, but I do it anyway.
“Nothing really. Just that anyone who cares about animals that much hardly ever misjudges anything, at least not in my book.”
I swallow, and now I’m the quiet one. I’ve had many comments lobbed my way throughout my life—most that go something like this: Why can’t you be like your sister? When are you planning to settle down like your brother? Don’t you want more for your life than just working as a receptionist at a motel? Then there’s the hurtful: When will you stop embarrassing your father? And the basic: Don’t you think you’re a little too old for that haircut? As though I’m sixty-seven and not twenty-eight. Bottom line: I’m used to criticism.
I barely know how to handle compliments, so I dodge them with a bit of truth.
“I like animals more than people, honestly.”
I look over at the sound of Finn’s quiet laugh. “Same, especially dogs. They’re always happy to see you, and they never criticize.”
It’s like we’re suddenly soul mates. “Exactly. And all they want in life is to eat every few hours, sleep in the sun, and be scratched on the belly all day. Kind of like me.” I blink. Why in God’s name I just said that last part is beyond me.Like me?My face flames as an image of Finn’s fingers trailing my stomach assault my inner vision like a bad anatomy textbook. I hated science in school, so it’s the worst kind of betrayal. “Sorry, my water-logged body has clearly broken my mouth.” When his gaze flits sidelong down the length of me, the flames lick my midsection and ratchet up my pulse. He focuses on the windshield and clears his throat.
